Flutter
by Vanillasiren
Summary: Her touch is feather-soft


Flutter

Summary: Her touch is feather-soft. Diaval/Maleficent

"I need you to be my wings."

This isn't their first meeting, though she might think it is. Only a few short days ago, he'd settled on a rock in the moors, watched her from his perch. The fair folk and their moors had always held a fascination for him, more so than the cruel humans – any creature who had wings was far superior in his book. Although the need for food compelled him to flight in the skies of Stefan's kingdom, the moors were a place that called to him, a strange and wonderful music that made his own voice sound harsh to his ears.

So she stood, and looked at the sad, dark fairy in all her desolate magnificence. She looked at him, her eyes gleaming like jewels, like water …

He felt a surge of magic, accompanied by a pain that did more than ruffle his feathers. He took her meaning, and flew swiftly away.

The thought struck him, as he departed, that she was quite beautiful, despite having no plumage.

The thought also struck that she was rather temperamental and he would do well not to cross her path again.

The next time they meet, he is cawing helplessly, caught beneath the mesh of netting. To be thrashing in the dirt, his beautiful wings flapping helplessly, cut off from air and sky – he can think of no great torture.

Until he feels her magic wash over him again.

There's no pain this time, but … but it feels so strange, he can't describe it, this shifting and moving and the …

The farmer utters a curse and runs off, along with his vile dog.

The faerie woman approaches him.

"What have you done to my beautiful self?"

And so she mocks him for his ingratitude, and in the end, he is properly chastened, although he can't say she likes the way she chose to save him. Still, he is in her debt, he knows that, so as is proper, he offers his services to her.

"Whatever you need."

"Wings. I need you to be my wings."

When she says the words, he feels something …flutter.

Even though at the moment, he does not have wings.

His new mistress is graceful, and terrifying, and cold.

Except … except when she strokes his feathers.

It seems to soothe her, and it makes him feel … needed, but in a different way. Wanted. Relied on.

Something flutters.

Is it the same thing that flutters when he first sees the babe Aurora, when he first soothes her cries with a feeding and rocks her to sleep? No, he thinks not. That feeling is like… is like after you've built the nest, he imagines, and the hatchlings are chirping, and you have brought them food.

But with Maleficent…

It is strange, to see her mischievous rather than malevolent, to hear her laugh in a way that is not tinged with rage, when she plays her trick with the rain on the pixies. So different from the way he reacted when he told of the child, so different from the cold, contained fury which emanated from her and later burst forth in the curse.

It is strange, and wonderful, and he does not know how to react to it. He wishes he could laugh with her, just a little, if he were not afraid the intimacy of the gesture might offend her.

"Oh come on, that's funny."

Something flutters.

She plays several tricks on the pixies, one of which causes them to neglect Aurora more than they usually do, and he caws anxiously as his mistress coolly observes the wee one's imminent death, but otherwise he can do nothing.

A scream, and an almost imperceptible gesture from his mistress, and the babe is brought up on a vine, giggling happily.

His mistress looks at him.

"What?"

You like her, he wants to say. You can call her "beastie" all you want, but you're as charmed by her as I am.

"Oh hush," she says, as if she has read his mind, and she pets him.

He coos softly.

She only touches him when he is in this form.

Except … except for one night … late fall, he thinks, an evening, and they are watching over the cottage. At some point, not meaning to, he falls asleep.

He is awakened by the pleasant sensation of her stroking his feathers.

But he doesn't have feathers, at the moment.

His eyes open slowly.

"Mistress?" He says softly, and she starts, drawing her hand back as if scalded.

For a moment, he doesn't move. For a moment, he hardly dares to breathe.

Then he leans forward, as he would in his feathered form, to nuzzle his head against her hand.

He feels the warmth of her touch again, and he dares further, leaning his head against her shoulder, curling into her like a hatchling.

"Cold," he offers feebly, and she says nothing, just puts her arm around him like a wing.

Perhaps he only imagines her lips brushing his hair, his skin, the touch feather-light and feather-soft.

But still … something flutters.

It flutters at her smile when the mud is flying around, when he laughs at her, long and loud and carelessly, and she repays him in kind, unable to keep the slight smile from her lips or the merriment from dancing in her shining eyes. It flutters fearfully when she speaks of true love, and how it doesn't exist, and he is gripped by an urgent need to prove her wrong, even before Aurora falls into her death-sleep.

It flutters when she tries to dismiss him, when he says himself the words he longs to hear her say, but in a mocking manner, the one she's taught him.

"I can hear you."

_Can you really, mistress?_

It flutters at the kiss, a mother's kiss, the one that breaks the curse and wakens their girl from her sleep.

"No true love indeed."

It flutters madly when he sees her trapped, just as she was, in a horrid net of man's making.

"Into a dragon."

He will burn all those who try to hurt her.

And how it flutters, how it soars and swoops and flies, when he sees her wings restored to her, when he appreciates her full magnificence as he never has before, when he knows she is last, healed, whole again, and will emerge victorious.

Later, after the crowning of their Aurora, it flutters in fear. It is a secret, futile fear, like beating one's wings against a net.

Wings….

"I need you to be my wings," she had said.

But she has them back now.

She doesn't need him anymore…

And yet, as they stand there, side by side, close enough to touch, she makes no mention of sending him away.

Instead, she invites him, wordlessly, to fly by her side, turning him back into a raven, and as they soar the skies together, he thinks that this can be enough. She is whole, but she is scared, just as he is, and what is left of her heart belongs to Aurora. It is a mother's heart.

It has no room for a lover.

Something flutters, in every beat of her wings beside his, in every glance, in every precious touch between them, and he knows what it is, though he will not give it name.

For while she no longer needs him to be her wings, she wants him with her still, and he will never forsake her. He would rather suffer these … flutters … for the rest of his days than spend a moment away from her side.


End file.
